Killer With a Heart
by Naishu
Summary: Neil Dylandy meets with a client before Celestial Being.


AN: I needed to get back into the swing of things after a gruelling end of semester, so I come to you with a one-shot! It's not the deepest piece in the world etc, but I needed to get in touch with Neil for '_Reverie_', so I've done a little piece on him interacting with a client before Celestial Being. I'm sure there would be a lot more discussion after this etc, but it ended naturally at a point far shorter than my normal word count.

Also, sending good luck vibes to Stormy!

_Set in AEU Ireland, 2303 AD_

* * *

"Have you ever killed someone?"

Neil watched the girl across from him. He thought of her as a girl because there wasn't any other way to see her. Her body language was strained, scared… as though she knew that meeting him in this particular bar at this particular time of day was the worst decision she'd ever made. She was as out of her element as she could possibly be; every movement in the room made her twitch, and if she pulled at her napkin any further he was sure she'd tear it down to its very molecules. He had no idea how she'd even managed to _find_ him, let alone worked up the courage to ask for his services.

She shook her head. "No. Is that a problem?"

Neil leaned back and watched her curiously. Her body language was terrified, but her words rang with certainty… with determination. "No." he finally said, squinting at her.

"Are you sure it isn't?" She sat back feebly, mirroring his motion. Somehow being further away from him and closer to the other patrons of this particular joint put her at ease. He scared her.

"It isn't a problem… most people come to me because they've never pulled a trigger."

"Then why the hesitation?"

She was irritated. Good, she was starting to behave like a customer hiring a service and less like a child lost at a theme park. He stretched slowly then stared at her again. "I'm just trying to understand what a girl like you is doing in a place like this."

She bristled, fearfully at first, then defensively. "A girl like me?"

He sighed. He'd have to explain the glaring discrepancies between her and his usual customer. "Look, you seem like a nice girl. You're obviously scared of me, which means you have a head on your shoulders. The idea of being in a place like this has you terrified, and frankly, I've never heard of you before. I couldn't find a single piece of information about you that would lead to you being here. You grew up in a normal neighbourhood, in a normal family…" he paused and watched her expression. When he didn't see any signs of faltering, he continued. "I don't offer a cleaning service. I'm not someone you hire to scare off an ex-boyfriend."

"Your point?"

His point was obvious. "You have to be in line with some particularly strong evil to need help from me. I want to know why a girl like you needs my brand of help."

"Why does it matter?" Her tone was sharp, he'd managed to strike a nerve.

"I just want to make sure that you really understand what you're getting into." If the names she'd given him were any indication, she knew exactly what she was doing. Still, he found it incredibly hard to believe that the scared, waifish little thing before him had anything to do with the kinds of men who were listed on her little coaster.

She buried her face in her hand and sighed. It wasn't an irritated sigh, but one that was almost sad. He was on the verge of finding out what it was that had led her to him. She caught his eyes. "Those men-!" a chair screeched across the floor and she jumped, her sentence forgotten.

He leaned forward again, hands clasped in front of him. He watched her turn back to the table after eyeing the room defensively. "Is it that bad?"

Her eyes skittered across the table to meet his. "You aren't going to help me until I tell you, are you?" She was exasperated. The strange pendulum of weak and strong was making him wary. Why was she here?

"No, I'm not." His answer was quicker than he expected, but he knew that he would need convincing if she really wanted him to take out the list of four names she'd provided. Two of them were men who had deep connections to the real IRA. Another had used his services before, and the last was likely equally as shady as the three before. Neil didn't adhere to of a 'rule book' per se, but he knew better than to bite the hand that fed him.

She seemed to weigh her options as she stared at him. "Two months ago I went with friends to Belfast. They'd always wanted to see the north… some kind of curiosity about danger, I guess."

Since the change in power with the AEU's reformation, the Real IRA had been very vocal about their displeasure with the opinions of those in the South. Had she been caught up in the feud? No, he would have found that in his information search.

"We went out to one of the clubs down by the water… it was my friend's birthday and she'd wanted to see- well…it isn't important." He watched her eyes drop to the wood grain surface of the table, her hand traced lightly along her glass of ice water. "I offered to drive the others, and I didn't drink much at all. After twenty minutes I had to get out of the club. I felt sick… I'd only had one drink, but I needed air."

She looked up at him, as if asking if she should continue. He watched expectantly. "I left and took a walk down the beach, I didn't notice that I was being followed until the club was already too far to reach." She leaned across the table and invaded his personal space for the first time since they'd made their awkward acquaintance. "by the time I realized what had happened, I was so sick I couldn't run. I was too weak to put up a fight before being slammed to the ground. Those men… they destroyed that nice, normal life that you found, Mr. Dylandy. I found you because I want them to pay for what they did. A life for a life, isn't that fair?"

His gaze narrowed, he didn't want to hear any more. There was nothing that made him more sick and angry than the idea of a woman being treated – no, _used_ – that way. Her flightiness and flinching suddenly made sense. He would need to verify her story before he went through with the job, but that could be done on his own. It wouldn't be the first time he'd sought out the truth before a job. "That's enough." He said, catching her eyes again.

She grabbed his hands and pulled them towards her. "No, it isn't. I need you to understand that I'm not just some girl with a grudge; you have to know why I came to you." She hesitated. "I can still taste the sand in my mouth, I can hear them laughing over the waves. They told me their names because they thought that I'd be dead, but by some twist of nature I'm still here and I won't let them get away with what they did." She stared at him defiantly, challenging his skepticism from before. She pressed something into his hand. "If you don't believe me, here's proof."

He opened his palm to find a small memory card. "I've paid enough people to get this, don't lose it." Her eyes burned intensely as she watched him. There was a fire and anger in them that there hadn't been moments ago. Suddenly she was fearless. Her strong, confident grip on his gloved hands told him that she was more than ready to follow through. He weighed his options and watched her.

"Fine."

She smiled for the first time since he'd met her, and released her grip on his hand. "Good. What do you need to know?"

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Why me?"

"Well Mr. Dylandy…I was told you were a killer with a heart."


End file.
